


Walk the World Alone

by uao



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Anal Sex, Apocalypse, BRIEF mention of self harm/injury, Cannibalism (Not Detailed), Doctor Harry, F/F, F/M, I Am Legend, I Am Legend AU, Kissing, Light D/s, M/M, Patient Louis, Slow Burn, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, one direction - Freeform, very brief - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uao/pseuds/uao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>US Army virologist Harry Styles, and his German Shepherd named Dusty, are the last sign of life in the city of New York; the year being 2007. A virus, originally created to cure cancer, has wiped out 90% of the human population while the remaining 10% are the infected - now called Darkseekers; cannibalistic creatures of the night. Harry himself is immune to the virus and searches for a cure everyday, testing on patients in his laboratory, but what he didn't search for was Louis Tomlinson; a Darkseeker he has taken into his laboratory to test on and actually succeeding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk the World Alone

**Author's Note:**

> So, this sort of hit me out of nowhere. It might be because I have a dear attachment to the 'I Am Legend' film and One Direction but, who knows? Copyright of the film goes to the respectful owners, of course, and copyright of this story goes to me. This is all fiction and in no way meant to be depicted as real life nor things that should occur in real life. 
> 
> Do not translate, do not post on other sites or blogs, and please, leave kudos, comments, criticism, anything! I welcome it.
> 
> Excuse any errors, this is not beta'd and only my second fanfiction ever written. 
> 
> Thank you. x

The sound of leaves bristling is what causes Harry to turn; gun brought up to his face and hazel eyes lining down the scope of his Colt AR15 while he slowly crouches, apprehensive. He scans the area, noting all the growing vegetation that has never seemed to find a reason to stunt its growth, while everything around it dies, in the duration he's been in New York - three long, lonely years. Even if the human population has died out, it seems that nature will not. He glances down at Dusty, noting that the dog is in her own hostile stance, and Harry silently praises her. He doesn't need another thing to worry about; her running off is not uncommon.

Another brush of green, crisp leaves has Harry sharply turning; a blur in his peripheral vision. Resting the trim of his gun against the rusting, abandoned hood of the car in front of him, slowly being covered in vegetation, Harry lines his gun up with the herd of deer numerous feet away. He takes steady breaths, like the army taught him; told him, and seconds later, his finger pulls the trigger and the bullet zips into the neck of a female doe;  _bulls eye_.

The sound of the shot has rung out, herds of the bird population flapping away in a hurry while the other deer quickly prance away; their fallen brethren long forgotten and white tails remembered instead. That's something Harry has learned in this time; the time of the virus slowly evaporating each human and mammal life it can contain - survival of the fittest. Harry can't force his feelings of guilt away, feelings of a simple reminder that if things were different, he wouldn't have even shot this doe; he would have gazed in awe from afar and snapped a few pictures on his camera, hang them up with the other polaroids in his study room and reminisce on them from time to time. But now is not three years ago.

He scopes things out, gazing around and slowly standing, before he makes way to the doe. His black, leather combat boots crunch on the broken gravel and dried tar of the street; grass and weeds poking through with a sense of hope. Once the coast seems to be clear, Harry slings his gun onto his back and crouches down onto one knee in front of the doe which, surprisingly, has yet to die. 

Its brown eyes are wide, the nictitating membrane revealed from fear; from the need to blink away the blow of Harry's bullet. He bites his lower lip as he gazes down at the animal, his chest squeezing painfully, and as the doe wheezes out short, raspy breaths, Harry lightly pets her tan coat. He knows it's cruel - giving an animal comfort and console like this - but, he thinks, if he was to die like this, he'd wished to be comforted as well. He doubts deer have that sort of thought process but it calms him nonetheless.

Years ago, while he was in the army, he would have dissected these deer - to learn more about their anatomy and how viruses course their way through the animal's veins - but only at the cost of the deer dying humanly. The deer would have had to of had a legitimate reason for its death such as disease, famine, old age, things like that. Harry may kill them without a second thought now but years ago, he wouldn't have even dreamed of hunting one down just to survive. Funny how things change.

Harry sighs as he caresses the doe's fur, noting just how soft it is, and as the doe takes her last breath, Harry lets out a small 'I am sorry' before reaching back into the garter on his thigh and clicking his pocket knife open. As he cuts and guts the deer, he reminisces on just  _how_  he got this pocket knife - one of his favourite stories, really.

 

_He was sixteen, outside in the backyard of his home in London, when his father, Desmond, came up behind him and put a black matte gift box in his hand. Harry had looked up at him in confusion, brown eyebrows furrowing and hazel eyes filled to the brim with curiosity; like a dam threatening to break. Harry's birthday was two months ago and he wasn't graduating for another few months so this didn't quite make enough sense to him. It wasn't like he had a bad relationship with his father; it was just... stressed and sometimes awkward. Father-son talks about the future and girls were the extent of their relationship, really, but that didn't pause the ever flowing love the young man had for him; often calling him 'Des'._

_"Son," his father murmured, sighing softly as he tugged the thighs of his slacks up, squatting next to the tree stump Harry sat on. "Did I ever tell you about my time in the Army?"_

_Harry pauses and slowly shakes his head no; long, nimble fingers setting the matte box in his lap. His fingers twitched to tear the bow and box open, he absolutely despised surprises, but he would be polite and wait - learn the reasoning behind this gift, if there was any._

_His father nods, expecting that answer, and clasps his hands together between his knees and Harry has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Whenever Des did this stance, standing or sitting, it meant Harry was in for a novel of a lecture or story and he wouldn't be given freedom until his father was satisfied with the conclusion._

_"When I joined the Army, in 1977, they taught me a plethora of things - how to shoot, how to walk without making a sound, how to use their advanced technology, and how to kill but the one thing they didn't teach me, the one thing I found out on my own, is that sometimes guns are not enough. When I was twenty-one, two years later from when I joined, a group of soldiers and I were given a mission: we were to find a group of terrorists and to exterminate them; quickly, quietly, and as clean as possible. Now, one would think to suffocate or maybe snap their necks, yeah?" he inquires, looking at Harry._

_Harry slowly nods, mumbling a 'sure'; unsure where Des is going with this. He knew that, sometimes, his father's stories had a theme or message, but usually; the fifty-eight year old man was rambling just to be heard. Harry noticed that four years ago, when Des told him about the first time he smoked a joint while Harry coloured at the kitchen table; completely taken aback. It doesn't surprise Harry anymore._

_"Well, that wasn't the case. A clean blow to the jugular or between the eyes kills them quickly and with fewer struggles - or so I thought. When we snuck into the area, one of the soldiers seemed to of nicked a tripping wire - covered by hay and vegetation - and an alarm rang through the area, swear you could hear it miles away. But, anyway, one of the terrorists managed to sneak up behind me and I noticed too late that my mistake wasn't that I brought a gun or the fact that I didn't check my surroundings after that. It was the fact that I had only_ _brought a gun; nothing that might of aided me like a knife."_

_Harry gazes at his father and it adds up; makes sense why he is giving Harry a gift - a knife - suddenly but it doesn't answer the question of why Harry might need a knife. He's sixteen, lives in London, and things are relatively quiet in his neighbourhood. It isn't something that occurs every day, giving your sixteen year old adolescent son a knife then a following chunk of life nostalgia story._

_"So, you're saying that knives can help when in times like those; quick and dangerous moments? That they have more than the purpose to cut a simple box open or to slice bark off of a tree?" Harry inquires, head cocking a bit and his chestnut curls spring lightly from the movement._

_Des smiles, a slow; proud one, and nods; lightly clapping Harry between his shoulder blades. His fingers lightly bunch in Harry's mint green jumper, causing the fabric to wrinkle ever so slightly like that of the skin on the older man's hand. "In a sense, Harry. What I'm saying is that knives like the one I am giving you have purpose. They are personal, they are deliberate, and when you follow my footsteps and draft for the army, I hope you will remember this story. That you will remember just how purposeful knives can be."_

 

Harry pauses in the midst of gutting the doe, his eyes fluttering as he notices a detail long forgotten. His father never told him the conclusion of his story; of what happened after they were caught and how a knife truly played a part in the revival of the older man's safety.

He reminds himself it doesn't matter anymore; that he'll never truly know the end of the story.

Harry closes the plastic bag currently filled with the guts and meat of the deceased doe; standing and leaving the remnants of the animal for the lions he knows are nearby. The felines had broken out of the Central Park Zoo, the least of anyone's worries when the virus had broken out. Harry slides the plastic bag into his backpack after rolling it up and sliding a rubber band in the middle to keep the guts and meat separated - some would be for research and then what's left to be consumed.

An inked hand pats his black, skinny jean clad thigh; hazel eyes glancing down at the watchdog. "C'mon, Dusty. Let's go home, yeah? The sun's beginning to set," he murmurs, gaze flickering the hues of orange and pink painting the sky. Dusty sits up from where she was watching and barks, wagging her tail gently as she lightly sprints to the black jeep a few feet away; Harry trailing behind. He opens the front seat door, Dusty jumping in, and closes it before walking around the front of the Jeep and entering the driver's side. Once he has his Colt AR15 and backpack in the floorboard of the back seats, he locks the car doors and turns the ignition before taking off, ever mindful of the setting sun behind them.

A screech fills his ears, even with the windows up and the doors locked, and he tightens the grip on the Jeep's worn steering wheel. He knows he isn't alone, that the infected hidden in the shadows are waiting for the day he's caught in the wrong area or out too late, but he can only try and think of how to fix this; of how to cure them and on how to find other survivors. If there are any.

**Author's Note:**

> How do you like it so far? I will try and update as much as possible but I am a very busy individual.
> 
> Huge thanks to my best friends Katelyn and Kaelyn for always encouraging me to write and for giving me amazing, sweet feedback. I really appreciate it.


End file.
